


Be Not Wanting

by matchsticks_p (matchsticks)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Chivalry, Courtly Love, Dirty Talk, Everybody Lives, Kink Meme, M/M, mildly non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchsticks/pseuds/matchsticks_p
Summary: "Alright, that's it," Faraday shouts, no longer able to contain himself at the sight of Goodnight removing his jacket to put over Billy's shoulders. "How did you ever get away with pretending he's your servant?!"(Written to fulfill a prompt that says "I'm interested in reading about Goodnight treating Billy with an abundance of respect, like so much that it's almost overboard or a fetish level of it, like the way an Arthurian knight would treat a court lady. [...] Billy doesn't exactly get off on it but it seems to do something for Goody so he tolerates it or is amused by it.")





	

Before Rose Creek but long after the bar fight that marked their meeting, Goodnight picked up the habit of laying out Billy's bedroll for him on the nights they opted to sleep under the open sky.

The first time he did it, Billy said nothing. He had been busy tending the fire and the horses, it made sense for Goodnight to make himself useful and set up their sleeping arrangements. Yes, it was a rather intimate thing to do, but they had been travelling together for months and had seen each other in various states of undress by this point—the simple touch of a hand on his bedclothes surely wasn't overstepping a boundary anymore. 

Billy didn't complain, and Goodnight didn't stop doing it. 

Every night, if Billy was occupied with some other task, Goodnight would lay out the waterproofed tarp, unroll the blankets that held his clothes and other possessions, lay the hard ones neatly to the side, and shape the clothes into a pillow. He did it with grace and efficiency, but there was nothing clinical about it. His fingers were careful, almost reverent, with Billy's things, and the way he smoothed the wrinkles out of the fabric bespoke something like tenderness. Sometimes Billy caught himself just watching Goodnight's hands while he did it, forgetting that if he was idle enough to watch he could probably stand to step in and do the rest himself. 

Billy silently accepted the new status quo, never saying a word to acknowledge it. Goodnight clearly wasn't waiting to for a thank you, anyway. Over time, Billy even came to expect it. He made no moves toward his own bedroll when they settled down at night, simply waiting for Goodnight to do it for him.

After a fortuitous run-in with some particularly stupid men with particularly terrible aim, they won enough money to stay at a decently nice inn for a few days, while their horses got re-shoed and the general store filled their supply order. 

They stayed in one room with two beds, as usual. Billy stepped out for one last visit to the outhouse and returned to find that Goody had turned down his bed for him. 

He smoothed one hand over the cool linen pillowcase and thought very seriously about what Goody meant to him. He could tell Goody knew what he was thinking, by the way their eyes met in the dim candlelight.

Turning down his bed turned out to be completely unnecessary, since they fucked that night, for the first time. Billy stayed in Goodnight's bed afterwards. He allowed Goodnight to clean him up with a cloth, caressing as he went, and tuck him in besides. It made sense for a lover to do, flush with the warmth of the afterglow.

* * *

After Rose Creek, they stay briefly in town, just long enough to recuperate from their injuries before setting off again.

Goodnight is comfortable around these people now, having stood shoulder to shoulder facing death with them, and so he relaxes around them. Billy never relaxes, but that is only to be expected. 

The first few days are difficult. They spend long hours propped up next to each other, laudanum making Billy's eyelids heavy and Goodnight's tongue loose. He rambles to him in French, which Billy is annoyed by whenever he's awake, on account of not being able to understand any of it. Sometimes he'll say things like "I'm sorry I got us into this mess, mon cher" instead, which Billy also seems annoyed by.

They spend long nights enduring the company of Sam Chisolm, who feels the need to constantly reiterate, "You idiots are lucky to be alive." Sometimes he is accompanied by Emma Cullen, who thanks them more than she needs to. 

On rare occasions, they're visited by Vasquez and Faraday instead, who spend their time trying to amuse them by arguing about whether any past breasts they've seen can rival the beauty of Ms. Cullen's. 

"Please, this isn't conversation befitting of gentlemen," Goodnight says, pained.

"We ain't gentlemen, and Ms. Cullen ain't the type of lady to take offence over this kind of compliment," Faraday points out. "Heck, we could probably have this conversation right in front of her and she might join in."

"Even if that were true, think about poor Billy here, stuck in this room listening to your filth. Don't subject him to that."

Billy doesn't respond with much more than a snort, turning over so he can go back to sleep. It's the least annoyed he's been with any of Goodnight's blathering thus far.

Thankfully, they soon are allowed to getup for longer and longer intervals. Once they're both given the go-ahead to walk around, Goodnight starts opening doors and pulling out chairs for Billy. 

Most of the others notice but don't look askance much. They came very close to dying, after all, and if that makes a man feel more attentive to his best friend that he almost lost, why, that wasn't so abnormal.

Faraday stares, however, with all his usual lack of subtlety. And one evening, when Goodnight and Billy take a stroll outside to take in some air and strengthen their legs, a soft drizzle sneaks up on them unexpectedly. Goodnight immediately removes his overcoat and drapes it over Billy's shoulders. Billy, without bothering to resist, simply pulls it tighter around himself.

"Alright, that's it," Faraday shouts, apparently no longer able to contain himself. "How did you ever get away with pretending he's your servant?!"

Billy doesn't deign to answer, and for once Goodnight joins him in silence.

Undeterred, Faraday plows on. "He practically waits on you hand and foot! He brings you breakfast on a tray! The other day I saw him help you around a puddle by standing directly in the middle of the water himself!"

With all the air of someone making a casual, unrelated observation, Billy says, "White men can be very stupid."

He walks on, and Goodnight shoots a quick wink at Faraday before following.

* * *

They spend all of their evenings with what's left of the others, now that the time to get back on the road is drawing close and they know they'll have to say their goodbyes soon. They have dinner all together and stay up late drinking and trading stories, and to no one's surprise it turns out Ms. Cullen can outdrink them all.

They play cards sometimes, but it's a complicated affair because they're all consummate cheaters. Sam can't hide his self-satisfied smirk when he wins their latest round of poker, and Faraday pushes away from the table with a groan, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"I'm gonna use the crapper and unload some weight before I lose the rest of my worldly possessions to you charlatans," he says.

Goodnight winces. "Please, language. Don't call the necessary facilities by that name."

Faraday rolls his eyes as he walks away.

"Well if the game is on hold for awhile," Vasquez says, "I'm going to go chat to that pretty señorita who has been giving me looks all night." 

" _Please, language._ "

"Oh come on," Faraday turns around and says, even though he's all the way at the door. "That wasn't even crude! It's not like he said he's gonna stuff it up her."

Goodnight slaps down his cards. "You're all barbarians," he says, "and I will not allow Billy to be subjected to this filth for a moment longer. We're going upstairs."

Billy gets up with no complaints, having grown bored of the card game hours before. 

It's funny, the fuss Goodnight will raise whenever someone uses obscene language around him, considering how dirty Billy's own mouth can get when the moment is just right.

They have to be in private, in their own room with the door closed and locked and everybody else downstairs loud and drunk and preoccupied. It has to be dark, the curtains drawn. Goodnight has to push him into the bed first, warm him up with rough hands and a soft mouth and sharp, sharp teeth. They have to be naked and sweaty and writhing against each other, on the cusp of falling over the edge together. 

When all those very specific conditions are met, then Billy gets struck with the rare mood to become talkative. He leans up, so close to Goody that his lips graze the shell of his ear, and between panting breaths he whispers, "I'm going to come in your ass, and then I'm going to use my own come running down your legs to lubricate your cock, and then I'm going to ride you until you cry."

He says it in his careful English, the clipped voice he uses when he's trying extra hard to not let his accent get too strong from losing all control. The sweet contrast of his lewd words and his prim tone is what really does Goodnight in.

* * *

They only talked about it once, this thing Goodnight does.

Billy was sick, just a touch under the weather from riding too long in a cold rain. Nothing a hot beverage and a day of rest wouldn't fix. His headache made him dizzy, though, and he slid off his horse without his usual grace. Goodnight insisted on taking his arm and helping him up the steps of the establishment they intended to stay at, too shabby to even be called an inn. Billy shook him off once they got inside, and even Goodnight wasn't so stubborn that he would hold onto Billy like some delicate maiden in front of a roomful of patrons.

His hand resumed its position under Billy's elbow as they were halfway up the stairs, and he made Billy sit down on his bed while he stowed all of their possessions away and requested a basin of hot water to be delivered to their room. He bustled about like some frantic bee, nervous energy and constant motion, refusing to let Billy do anything or even get up.

Billy put up with it for a solid few minutes before he'd had enough.

"You know," he says, his voice scratchy from the sore throat he was developing, "I don't actually love being fussed over. It makes me feel helpless." More precisely, it made him feel like he wasn't in control, and there was nothing Billy liked less than relinquishing control.

Goodnight put down Billy's dusty jacket, which he had been attempting to shake out. He walked back over to Billy and sat down next to him. 

"There are…there are certain customary ways of doing things, where I'm from," he began, and Billy raised an eyebrow because he didn't see how that had anything to do with his main complaint. Goodnight slid his hand across the small space between them and placed it over Billy's. "I have kicked a good many of these Southern habits, as I recognize that we live in a different place and time now, and they no longer serve. But there are still some traditions I believe in, and chief among them is how a gentleman is supposed to behave when he has intentions toward someone."

Billy raised his other eyebrow, to join the first.

"So I will ask you to please bear with me, Mr. Rocks, and tolerate my occasional indulgences in the customs of old. It's never because I feel like you need my assistance. It's only ever because I wish to provide it, as a gesture of my…" 

"Intentions?"

"Yes." Goodnight cleared his throat. "And my affection," he added in a rush.

Billy supposed he could live with that. 

That was it, the only time they directly addressed the matter. And now it is their last night in the slowly reconstructing town of Rose Creek, as they prepare to head off in the morning. Sam insists on buying them dinner and Emma insists on paying for their drinks, to send them off on a positive note.

Billy waits for Goodnight to pull his chair out for him, before he sits down to share his meal with friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and thanks endlessly to [Adi Rotynd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/adi_rotynd/profile) for looking up all of the historical usages of words because I am useless and she is an angel of research. I'm [on tumblr here](http://riseagainphoenix.tumblr.com/post/153927442177/be-not-wanting-the-magnificent-seven-2016) and totally happy to chat all day every day about Billy being Queen Guinevere.


End file.
